The Mutants' Torture
by HexalianRebelAgent
Summary: It appears the Condesce has a new scribe, and she has suggested an alternative punishment to the mutants instead of culling them. It is a strange and silly idea, but surprisingly, Her Royal Condescension agrees and the scribe documents it all in her mysterious book.


_Her Royal Condescension lounges there, observing the maze in the large room below this viewing station. And I, her newly (self-)appointed human scribe, sit beside her. She recently announced that the three mutant trolls were to finally be permanently executed by the Subjugglators on this day, but I, never one for murder, managed to "talk" them into trying something a bit more… fun._

()()()()()()()()()

Run, just run; just keep running. The small troll's bare grey soles padded over the carpeted floors. Carpet; a strange luxury in such a hellish trap. He stopped and panted heavily, leaning on one of the gaudy, brightly polka-dotted walls. He could barely feel his ribcage, his lungs were killing him, and his cheeks were still tinged red from his earlier torture that he'd barely escaped from.

"Hey, best friend…" a gravelly voice called after him smugly; he could hear the evil smirk. "Honk honk…" The small troll's eyes cast fearfully over his shoulder as he stood and took a few steps; he peered blindly around a corner, relaxing only slightly when no one was there. His relaxation turned to terror, and his blood turned to ice as a hand tightly gripped his shoulder.

"Peek-a-boo, Kar-bro." the voice purred in his ear; he screamed in utter horror as a juggling club hit him cleanly over the head, knocking him against the wall and rendering him unconscious.

The clown held his club loosely now, picking up the smaller troll and hefting him over his shoulder. He smirked slightly at the boy's bare feet; mere seconds after torturing them, his little candy-blooded prisoner had wriggled out of his ropes and scrambled off. He had been instructed to tie loose knots though; they knew how he loved the hunt. He laughed softly to himself; he could never bring himself to hurt his best friend.

()()()()()()()()()

"Karkat!" the second Vantas shouted toward the ceiling as he heard the boy's scream. His only response was a sudden, splitting headache and the repeated honking of a horn. His section of the maze was dark and silent other than that honking. He looked over his shoulder nervously, and his eyes widened in terror as a glow-in-the-dark skeleton shape was approaching him, eyes glowing their demonic purple. He turned away quickly, getting up and running despite the pain in his skull. This wasn't fair; this Makara's power was much stronger than the other Makaras', and he would be damned if he didn't use it.

The Makara chuckled lowly as the Vantas in that silly red sweater ran away. He slowly and patiently stepped after him, recalling fondly how easy it had been to break the usually bold and talkative mutant. Taping his mouth shut beforehand probably helped a bit; the way he screamed and cried at such a simple method of torture was beautiful to him. As he watched the shorter boy run down a hall, he smirked and stepped into the one parallel to it. Listening to the Vantas's panicking thoughts and lightly tapping the wall in an exaggerated miming act, he followed his quarry through the hall before stopping. He pressed his ear to the wall and waited in silence.

The Vantas boy panted as he slowed down; he seemed to have lost his pursuer, but he still found himself barely able to move with how scared he was. He edged quietly along the wall; the air was thick with a suspenseful silence. Something was wrong. A scream of abject terror and helplessness tore from his throat as a punch smashed through the wall beside him, and the hand grabbed the collar of his sweater; he was yanked roughly by his neck, hitting his head twice on the wall before passing out.

The lights came back on in the halls as the taller troll approached the unconscious one. He easily picked him up like he was nothing, carrying him to the room their employer had specified in another part of the maze.

()()()()()()()()()

Another scream, another Vantas lost. He was the only one left. The piece forced in his ear buzzed with his tormentor's mocking chuckles.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing." He murmured into the microphone.

"You seem to as well." The villain taunted almost playfully; the mutant troll did enjoy their occasionally flirtatious bantering. "You seemed to almost enjoy your so-called torture." He laughed, and the longsuffering mutant rolled his eyes.

"About that;" he added, trying to keep a steady voice as he nervously turned a corner. "I never envisioned that you would stoop so low. I am aware your religion revolves around 'humorous entertainers', but this-" he chuckled, still unable to believe what was happening. "This is childish. I would almost go so far as to say pathetic."

"I feel I should first address the fact that you were the one tied to the table and begging for mercy; you dare imply I'm pathetic? More importantly though, I'll remind you that this wasn't my idea. I'm sure you've noticed there's no candy red color on these walls; If this had been my plan-"

"Yes, yes; you would paint the walls with our blood. Highblood, you are slipping; you are growing predictable."

"Oh, am I now?" The young adult troll heard the soft twang of a bowstring through the earpiece, and he flinched away as an arrow nearly impaled his ankle. He spun around to see the Highblood sitting on top of the wall perpendicular to the hall he stood in, smiling cruelly down at him as he pulled back another arrow.

"Dammit." He snarled, running in odd patterns as arrows plunged into the carpet around him.

The Highblood laughed with a purposefully psychotic flare, jumping down from the wall and yanking an arrow out of the ground, slipping it back into his quiver as his quarry ran for his life. A life that wasn't actually in any real danger; damn that human scribe and her magic book. He smirked deviously though; this was still somewhat entertaining. It was a torture he could inflict as much as he wanted, and the victim pleaded just as much. This victim was different though; it had been a good ten minutes before he'd been made to laugh, let alone beg for mercy. He chuckled; he knew this runt like a favorite story; he knew the truth.

The young adult panted and leaned on a wall, a barely hidden smile gracing his face. His always capricious follower couldn't be more than 20 feet behind him, and that was also taking into account the corners he could be turning. The short troll recalled an earlier place in the path that appeared to circle around itself. He smiled softly to himself and followed the loop; sure enough, he caught up to his pursuer and snuck up behind him.

"Very sloppy, Highblood." He taunted into the microphone, and he quickly sprang up and pressed his hands to the taller troll's shoulders, using him as leverage to jump up onto one of the walls; he ran along it as fast as he could without invoking a possibility of falling. He heard the Highblood laugh as he gave chase; their games did have a tendency to get extreme like this. He couldn't have been running a minute before a fired arrow came dangerously close to piercing his ear; his steps faltered and one foot strayed into the path for just a second. A second too many, he realized as another arrow caught his pant leg and pinned it to the wall- It was a shot that would have made any Zahhak cringe with unexpressed jealousy-throwing him off balance and leaving him to dangle by his ankle until the arrow couldn't hold his weight and snapped. The capricious clown sneered as he approached, drawing three arrows at once; the little bastard just wouldn't give up though. He got to his feet and tried to take off again, only to get snagged by the arrows tacking his cloak to the wall. His hands were immediately at his neck to attempt to untie it, and he swiftly ducked his head to avoid another arrow, ending up with his hood pinned as well. Removing the cloak was proving to be a lost cause; there were knots there he hadn't tied, and they were too tight to pull apart. He sighed and lifted his hands up away from his body, flinching only a bit when arrows pinned his sleeves to the wall. He stared up at the Highblood, a bantering smile on his face. The clown simply sneered at him.

"Very sloppy, Sufferer." He mocked, cracking his knuckles. The mutant troll's smile vanished as the Highblood punched him across the face, knocking him out instantly as drops of candy red blood dripped from his nose.

(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)

_The Subjugglators have their prey, and the Empress and I stand. I lead her calmly out a door and down a flight of stairs. We roam a few halls to reach another viewing station; this one has a large window of one-way glass, allowing us to see into the room where Gamzee and Kurloz were restraining Karkat and Kankri to the angled tables against the wall. The Grand Highblood kicks the door open a moment later, carrying the semiconscious Sufferer and restraining him like the others, his arms getting stretched over his head. They are beginning to stir and mumble now…_

(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)

His name is Karkat Vantas, and he was the leader of a highly dysfunctional group of trolls. He is well known for probably having the shortest temper of any sentient being in the Incipisphere. He'd been fast asleep when he was taken and had woken up tied to a mattress. Out of the three of them, he put up the most fight, screaming and thrashing at his bonds even while lost in fits of hysteria. He was particularly sensitive under his arms, behind his knees, and all along his sides. His feet were another story entirely; a feather-light touch had brought on peals of laughter and protests, even a bit of begging at one point. All the thrashing he'd done had loosened the knots holding him, and he'd given his torturer a swift kick in the face before running away.

His torturer was Gamzee Makara, his supposed best friend. He has known Karkat for many sweeps and, by now, was an expert when it came to making the loud young troll laugh. He knew exactly what buttons to push and just how much pressure to push them with. He reached up to the bound troll before him and lightly wiggled his fingers into the thin black material of his T-shirt, playing his ribs like piano keys and squeezing his hips. He smirked and giggled as he crisscrossed his hands back and forth across his belly before digging his fingers up into his armpits. All the while, Karkat was in stitches, yelling at Gamzee and writhing helplessly. It was futile though, these chains wouldn't loosen like the ropes had. That was a good thing too, because the way Karkat shrieked and struggled when Gamzee squeezed and tickled his knees, the Makara almost feared he'd break loose. Again, his feet and toes were another story entirely; Gamzee thanked the Messiahs for such wicked strong irons. It couldn't have been ten minutes spent on those feet before the young Vantas was pleading for mercy; even all his swearing had stopped in favor of pleas and a few sparse threats when Gamzee scratched his toes.

()()()()()()()()()

His name is Kankri Vantas. He was the leader of a slightly less dysfunctional, but twice as weird, group of trolls. He is well known for never shutting his goddamn mouth when it's clear no one's listening anymore. He couldn't remember how exactly he'd been taken, but he did remember being strapped down to a similar table with duct tape over his mouth. Out of the three of them, he definitely had the most ticklish spots; a light poke or sweep of one finger just about anywhere on his torso would make him giggle uncontrollably. In fact, if the other trolls found out he was so sensitive, he'd never be able to make another speech for the rest of his afterlife. It was found that his stomach and ribs were oversensitive as all hell, and feathers on his neck and ears drove him batty. Like Karkat's ropes, the straps hadn't been properly fastened, and when his tormentor made the totally-not-planned-in-any-conceivable-way mistake of leaving the room, he'd managed to free himself and sneak off.

His tormentor was Kurloz Makara, a telepath that Kankri never did get along with very well. He knew the Vantas better than he would ever realize; it pays to have mind-reading powers like that. Kankri's memory was blurry because Kurloz had embraced his inner Troll-Jedi and led him down here while he was in a trance; unfortunately, even trapped in a telepathic hold, Kankri still refused to shut up. He had slapped a piece of tape over his mouth before waking him up; he did have some limits. Also during the earlier torture, Kurloz had cut off the upper section of Kankri's pants to have access to his stomach and ribs; Porrim would be crazy happy when she found out. He'd found that Kankri's torso was indeed overly sensitive when just the brushing of his fuzzy sweater against his tummy made him laugh. The memory made him smirk and he pressed his hands into Kankri's sweater, rubbing his stomach and sides a bit roughly. The Vantas boy squealed and burst into helpless, bubbly laughter. The Makara would occasionally flex his fingers through the small holes in the stitching, making the Vantas flinch at the sudden contact with his bare skin. A sneer crossed his face and he lifted the garment to scribble his fingers along his ribs. He let go of the sweater and pulled a feather quill from his sylladex, brushing it across his neck and into his ears. Kankri was completely hysterical, pleading for mercy whenever he could muster coherent words, and beads of tears appeared in his eyes.

()()()()()()()()()

The final's name is (-(NAME WITHHELD)-), but he is addressed by his title, The Signless or his alternate, the Sufferer. He had conducted a movement to destroy the tyranny of hemospectrum and was ultimately defeated and killed by the highbloods; now in his afterlife, he chooses to playfully antagonize his favorite homicidal entertainer. He knew damn well what he was getting into; He could never pass up a chance for a rousing bout of hate-play with the towering highblood. He was definitely the most ticklish of all three mutants, and he hated it; his, ahem, "tormentor" knew this very well. It took next to no effort to make him laugh and beg, and because of his short stature, his much larger opponent could easily pin him down. Of course, it was that same small stature that made it so difficult to catch him in the first place. Unlike the other two, he'd escaped his earlier torture on his own, somehow getting away from his tormentor in less than twenty minutes and leading him on a chase for nearly two hours.

His so-called tormentor was (-(NAME WITHHELD)-), better known by his title as the Grand Highblood. He was once the leader of the Subjugglators, but died of natural causes, only to be almost immediately accosted by the Signless in the afterlife. He hadn't bothered to mince words with his budding Kismesis- the Signless could sense a lie from a mile away anyway- and had led a willing participant to this stupid performance. That's all this ridiculous stunt was; again, damn that human scribe and her magic book. He shook his head and approached his little prisoner- who gave a taunting smile and stuck his tongue out- and without hesitation dug all ten fingers into his waist. The mutant nearly bit his tongue off trying not to laugh, but the Highblood knew him too well, scratching under his arm and squeezing his hips. The cloaked troll flinched suddenly and choked out a laugh, struggling as he bit his lip again, just barely keeping back spouts of giggles. The Highblood rolled his eyes and stopped for a moment, surprising him with a semi-passionate hate-kiss. The mutant blushed, somewhat confused; his eyes widen in shock as fingers suddenly dug into his armpits, and he burst out laughing. He swore loudly, calling the highblood a cheating bastard as he laughed and struggled. The tall troll sneered and trailed his fingers back down to his waist and across his stomach. Going a bit farther and squeezing his kneecap, the Grand Highblood smirked at the Sufferer's squeal; his smirk became a sneer when he swept a finger across the smaller troll's foot and he went crazy.

(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)(!)

_Her Royal Condescension acknowledges me with a smirk and a nod. I may not be very violent like her and her minion, the Highblood, but she says I make a decent scribe. And my unorthodox torture ideas were "intriguing". I chuckle, letting her know that it is simply because of my open mind and my magic book. With this book, I can change reality in just about every possible way; I simply write in the book that the Highblood would not cull me for suggesting something so outlandish, and he won't; I write that I have this random gigantic maze in an ambiguously placed building for no apparent reason other than this, and sure enough, I do; and I simply write that the Empress shall unconditionally agree to my crazy, childish plan and not cull me as soon as enter her throne room, and sure enough, she willingly does…I also, very quickly write in that she forgets all I've revealed to her before she runs me through with her Dual-ended Trident! …And, thank god, she does. And together, we sit and observe the remainder of the mutants' torture. They are all so adorable when they laugh._

_Written by,_

**_Ronnie, that Damned Human Scribe_**

**_Sylph of Void_**

* * *

**A/N: Hahaha~ No, my friends, I'm not sorry for writing this story instead of finishing the next chapter of Suffering You. However, as long as my brain doesn't go Mituna on me, I should be able to finish it before I go to bed today.  
**


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